


Ask Me Anything

by thiswesternfeeling



Category: V for Vendetta - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Infidelity, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships, in which it's anyones guess whether Evey has c-ptsd or if she really loves v and misses him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 19:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15154247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiswesternfeeling/pseuds/thiswesternfeeling
Summary: FKA The Secret Life of Emily RussellAU where... a lot goes differently. V is never shot by Finch, and he and Evey spend two more years in the Gallery, re-evaluating their plan after the death of Adam Susan and subsequent fall of Norsefire. On November 5, 2000, V's plan is foiled, the gallery is raided. Evey survives, as does one other protege of V's, but V does not. Authorities believe Evey to be a prisoner with Stockholm syndrome, brainwashed into committing acts of terror. Five years later, she has relocated, changed her name, and gotten married. But the effects of her time with V have a vice-like grip on her, in ways neither she nor anyone else realizes.





	1. The Next Step

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a fic I wrote in 2010 which was, to put it gently, absolutely awful. Such a complex plot couldn't be realistically and interestingly portrayed by 13 year old me. But after reading it over in 2018, I decided I still loved the concept, and this idea of mine deserved a rewrite.

 

December 21, 2005

That dull christmas party was certainly a night to remember. Adrian and I had been dating for two and a half years, and this was my third time at his family’s Christmas. I could never remember which house was theirs, this neighborhood was full of cookie-cutter McMansions for the rich and tasteless. Adrian slowed in front of one, decorated only with lights along the front porch. This was it, this was the place. I stepped out of the car, careful not to lose my footing on the slick winter driveway. We were the first to arrive; Adrian’s mother greeted us and asked to take my coat. I declined, knowing I would have to keep track of it all night, but I couldn’t trust the extended family with a  £3,000 All Saints sheepskin coat. Not that one would steal it, no, they could afford things like this on their upper middle class income bracket. But their tastelessness, their tactlessness. God be damned if I’m going to let my nice coat be stained or wrinkled from carelessness. I tucked it over my arm as I came inside the house. 

“You’re just in time for the food,” his mother said, gesturing towards his father placing various items onto stacked trays. I offered to help, an offer warmly received.

“See Linda?” his father said. “I told you, many hands make light work. We could’ve finished this hours ago.”

Linda scoffed. “Gerard, I told you, setting up the food will make me spoil my diet.”

Gerard let out a chuckle. “Yeah, like you absorb calories through your skin or something.”

I ignored the banter, quickly finishing the arrangements and correcting Gerard’s mistakes. Would you believe, a man in his fifties doesn’t know that the cheese tray and veggie tray are separate. I finished arranging and carried the trays into the foyer, placing them tastefully around the table, working with the tablecloth, candles and tiny figurines to give an aesthetically pleasing result.  _ Maybe Linda would be complimented on her sudden acquisition of taste _ , I thought.  _ I’ll let her pass this one off as her own. _

I didn’t dislike Adrian’s family, in fact I was rather fond of them. I rarely voice my criticisms, I simply judge internally. It’s how I am with everyone, everything.  If I voiced every complaint of mine, I’d make more enemies than I could count. I judge because I know we can do better. I stay silent because honey attracts more flies than vinegar.

Adrian and I met at work three-ish years after V and I parted ways. He was a CRNA, and I was in residency in my last two semesters of pharmacy school. Although my heart was broken, I knew it was time to move on, and I accepted his offer of a date after a few days of talking in the break room. Soon after, he became my official boyfriend, and it’s all been a smooth ride from there. We’re very different, but we acknowledge and respect our differences instead of complaining to each other about every little thing we don’t like, and I think that’s been the trick. That, and how much we admire each other. I admire his work ethic, compassion for others, and seemingly endless supply of empathy. He admires my resilience and adaptiveness, and says I’m the strongest person he’s ever met.

He doesn’t know the whole story, and never will. I was lucky enough to convince police I was a witness and victim of V’s crimes, instead of a semi-willing accomplice. I’ve never lied to Adrian about this, I simply left out the whole “willing” part. In his mind, I was the victim of kidnapping and false imprisonment and was brainwashed into doing V’s bidding. So severely brainwashed, that I had convinced myself it was my own free will and choice. Maybe I was brainwashed, who knows, but police believed it, and all charges against me were dropped. This story of Stockholm syndrome got me a legal name change, a relocation to another part of the country, and tuition-free schooling. I chose pharmacy school because it offered everything I wanted in a career. Time alone, high income, an MD to put at the end of my name, and of course, caring for the sick without having to get too involved. I could never be a nurse, I don’t know how Adrian manages. All that direct patient contact, all that empathy, all that attachment to patients who don’t make it. It makes it easier for a patient to be just another name and number.

One by one, carfuls of cousins, in-laws, great-aunts and such made their way in, carrying boxes and baskets to place under the tree for the children. At some point, the place had gone from tranquil to hectic. 

"Emily,” what’s-her-name, Adrian’s niece, asked, “Would like some casserole?”

"Oh no thank you,” I said, dismissively. “I've already had three platefuls."

I turn around, another voice. "Emily, great to have you back this year." 

"Emily, it’s been so long, I’ve missed you," 

"Emily..." 

"Emily, why don't you..." 

"...Emily,"

All of the voices blended into one as I trudged my way through the foyer, until one caught my ear.

"Emily..." Adrian whispered, "Come with me. I want to tell you something."

"Alright," I said, smiling. He opened a door, displaying a long hallway. Adrian and I walked, and he opened the second to last door on our right.

The sounds of the small family Christmas party muffled as Adrian and I slipped behind the door, into the dark room. He reached his hand behind him, to shut and lock the door. Finally, a moment alone. He flicked on a light, and we lounged upon the sofa. He took my face in his hands and kissed me. 

A second later, his hands still on my cheeks, I said, “Mh, merry Christmas, love.”

He smiled. “And many more to come.”

"Yes," I said, "I hope so too."

He took a deep breath, gathering himself into an awkward position, with one hand in his back pocket. "You don’t need to hope so anymore, Emily..." he said, his voice shaking. “I want you in my life forever, you and me against the world. I know you’re the right girl, and I think it’s the right time.” He took another deep breath, before taking a little red box out of his pocket, and dropped to one knee.

"Emily Russell, will you marry me?"

My mind went blank for a second, not recognizing my own name. When the reality of it all hit, I smiled. 

“Yes! Yes yes absolutely!”

He grinned, slipping the gorgeous ring onto my left hand. The band was white gold, with two branches reaching across to hold the two white gemstones in place. 

“Sapphire,” he said, “I know how much you hate diamonds.”

I giggled. I knew his family would give him grief over not spending two months’ salary on an artificially scarce rock of carbon. This, a white sapphire, could pass as a diamond to nosy traditionalists. Clever, clever boy.

We stood up, him picking me up by my waist and twirling me around before setting me down with a soft kiss.

“Emily Russell Prentiss,” he said.

“It sounds perfect,” I replied.


	2. Letting It Out

I unlocked the door to my flat, giddy and exhausted after such a long day. I slumped my bag by the door, immediately finding the zipper on the dress I was eager to get off. The green taffeta fell in a circlet by my feet as I undid my glamorous updo and pulled my hair into a bun. I reached down for the dress, unzipping my boots and setting them aside as I carried myself, and the dress, into my bedroom. I unhooked my bra and let the straps slide down my shoulders, tossing it into the washing basket. I opened my closet door, leaving my hands lingering on both sides, pondering what to wear to bed. I slid a baby-pink chemise over my head and shoulders and let it settle over my hips. I leaned my head back and let myself drop into my bed, pulling the sheets around me. A long and successful day, finished.

Curling myself into my duvet, I let myself daydream. I was finally moving on. My life was continuing without him. At the beginning of the thought, the mood was delicate and lighthearted. But as I finished my thought, the hope drained and what was left in its wake was emptiness. I felt like I was giving up. I felt like continuing my life meant losing the last threads connecting me to V. The realization hit like a sledgehammer; I really, really didn’t want to sever those last remaining threads.

I knew I wasn’t ever going to see him again. I knew he was most likely dead. I knew what he did wasn’t love. That isn’t what you do to someone you love. But I was still clinging to those threads, those last possible reasons not to move on. I mulled it over in my mind, before deciding I would get my thoughts out on a voicemail I’ll never send.

I pulled out my video camera, setting the lens on the floor so all that could be seen was black. I pressed record, and let loose. 

“V, I’m… God I’m so sorry. I’m not over you. No matter how much I pretend I’m ok, I’m not, and never will be. I will be living with this pain the rest of my life. I thought it’d be easier after five years but the pain is just as fresh as it was on the first night. Time doesn’t heal this wound, all I can do is learn to manage the pain as best as I can. And I found a way to manage it. I’m getting married. Adrian is everything you’re not, everything you wish you could be, everything you wanted me to believe you were. But know that he can never fill the void you left. Our days of work and nights of passion, everything I’ve learned, I’ll never forget. Every day will be twinged with an aching sadness, because I knew what it was like to be happy. I knew what it was like to live my ideal life. And in the blink of an eye, my paradise was snatched away from me, my fingers desperately trying to grasp for it back as life as I knew it came to an end. But…” I took a long breath, “If by some mad chance you’re alive, and you’re ok, and you escaped, send me a sign. I need a sign that you’re ok, that Ruth is ok, that the others, they’re all alive and well. I’d do anything to see you again, just one more time, just one more hour with you for proper goodbyes. But if that’s too much to ask, too selfish of me to ask, just give me a sign.”

I pressed the stop button, my eyes welling up with tears, my throat getting hoarse. Those same thoughts replayed in my head as I shut my eyes and clamped the pillow around my head, somehow hoping that when I opened my eyes, I would be back in the Gallery. Back with V, back to normal. But when I opened my eyes, it was just my flat, as always.

_ This stage of my life is over now,  _ I told myself.  _ Unless divine intervention herself steps in, he won’t send me a sign. And if he doesn’t send a sign, that’s my cue that he’s over me too, and I can move on without risk. And if he does, well, fate clearly meant it to be. _

I thought I knew what fate had in store for me. I did not.


End file.
